These are the matters of faith; the facts, I give you are but two, and perhaps only true of his younger days; that he eateth fiddlers in secret, and dies in a temperature of twenty-six Fahrenheit.
AN EPITAPH.
This shell of stone within it keepeth
One who died not, but sleepeth;
And in her quiet slumber seemeth
As if of heaven alone she dreameth.
Her form it was so fair in seeming,
Her eyes so heavenly in their beaming,
So pure her heart in every feeling,
So high her mind in each revealing,